


Miranda Rights

by redpantsandjam (fullonzombae)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullonzombae/pseuds/redpantsandjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a price for breaking into Greg's office and stealing his handcuffs. One that Sherlock knows all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miranda Rights

“You have the right to remain silent.”

Sherlock gasped as his chest collided with the wall, his hands tugged behind his back as the cuffs were slapped on. As his cheek was pressed against the wall, Sherlock closed his eyes, his breath ragged as he attempted to regain his composure.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you…”

“Lestrade…”

A body pressed against him, pinning him to the wall, lips brushing against his ear.

“We certainly get all the posh fucks around here.”

“Greg.”

“Ain’t this part of town a bit rough for you, Eton?”

“For Christ’s sake. Victoria Regina.”

At that, the body fell away from Sherlock, Greg licking at his lips. “Right. Want me to release you?”

“What? No, don’t be stupid, Lestrade.” Sherlock paused, tilting his head to one side, picking the lock expertly on his own accord and holding the cuffs back out to the Detective Inspector. He watched the contemplation on Greg’s face, deciding to explain why he’d safe worded. It was the first time in their nine month affair, after all. “Why were you using the Americanised rights?”

Relief flooded over Greg’s face, a laugh as he relaxed against the wall himself. “Christ, Sherlock. You know our rights. Don’t allow for too many… Whatever you call them.”

“Innuendos.”

“Yeah. Those.”

A smile curled onto Sherlock’s lips, a curt nod. “Right. A suspension of reality just so you can use that line.” He stepped closer, cupping Greg’s face in his hands, his lips against the elder man’s, tasting the nicotine that lingered on his breath. “I suppose I’ll allow it,” Sherlock murmured, as he pulled back. In response, Greg’s hand came up to curl around Sherlock’s wrist, his thumb caressing the smooth skin as he smiled up at the detective.

“Let’s see a bit more of that cocky twat I arrested in 2004, hmm?”

It took one swift movement, and Sherlock found himself pressed back against the wall, his hands being cuffed once more.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used… held against you…”

“Lestrade…”

“What was that?”

“Gregory Lestrade.”

An almost inaudible moan escaped Sherlock’s lips as Greg pressed up against him once more, his lips coming up to tug against Sherlock’s ear.

“My, we’re getting the posh pricks round here, aren’t we?”

Greg’s voice lowered, an uncharacteristic darkness in his usually light-hearted tones. Sherlock responded with a whimper as Greg’s hips pressed harder against him.

“Trouble with you Etonian fucks is that you think you can all buy your way out of a criminal record, hmm? Well tough shit. You want out of this one, then you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Clichéd.”

Greg responded with a roll of his hips, pushing Sherlock back against the wall, one hand coming down to slide between the wallpaper and Sherlock’s crotch, grabbing him roughly.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t fuck some manners into you… Could have you on the floor, gagging on my cock. You posh boys usually know how to swallow one.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched in amusement as he glanced at Greg, before slipping into his assigned role.

“Please Sir. I’ll pay… Just let me go.”

A thrust into Greg’s hand, and the detective inspector moaned as he felt Sherlock’s arousal. As he unbuckled Sherlock’s belt, and tugged his trousers down, Greg tugged the lubricant from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table behind him. Wrapping one hand around Sherlock’s already hard length, a firm stroke that caused Sherlock to back up against Greg’s clothed erection.

“You look like a complete cock-whore… Bet you’ve taken more than your fair share of cocks, hmm?”

“N…No Sir.” Sherlock had perfected the stammering, and was keeping up the pretence of some upper class toff who had just been collared for some petty crime. The act only fell with the occasional thrust of Sherlock’s hips as he fucked Greg’s fist, but at the sound of Greg’s trousers dropping behind him, Sherlock soon resumed his act.

“W…What are you going to do to me, Sir?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. On your knees. Need I remind you of the charges we’re looking at here?”

Greg finished his sentence with a press on Sherlock’s shoulder, pushing the detective down to his knees, wondering just how many people had seen him in this glorious state. As far as he was aware, the list began and ended with Victor Trevor, and that had all ended ten years ago.

“I’ve no idea what I’ve done, Sir.”

The confidence had returned to Sherlock’s voice, as if being on his knees was all the empowerment the detective needed. With that thought, Greg reached down to card his fingers through the familiar brown curls, fighting the urge to bury his face in Sherlock’s hair and  inhale the scent of his shampoo, mixed in with the scent of tobacco smoke.

“Those handcuffs, you little shit, were on my desk this morning.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened with mock innocence as Greg’s accusation spilled out, and as he opened his mouth to protest, Greg responded by pressing his cock to Sherlock’s lips, his own gaze fixed on Sherlock’s. Christ, how long would his dickhead lover hold out this time?

“Come on… It’s this or a criminal record. What would your Daddy say, hmm? His posh little boy earning a conviction?”

At that point, Sherlock fell forward, resting his forehead against Greg’s hip as his body reverberated with laughter. Pulling back once he’d composed himself, he looked up at the detective inspector, a grin on his face.

“He’d probably say it was about time you stopped letting me off with a warning.”

The response came from Greg’s hand, guiding Sherlock’s mouth back towards his aching cock, a gasp escaping his lips as Sherlock’s tongue came out to lick along his length. Well, there was a better use for that mouth if ever he’d found one.

When it came to blowjobs from Sherlock Holmes, Greg found that one was in for a truly mind blowing experience. Sometimes, the detective would make the experience slow, sensual, as if he wanted to savour and worship every inch of Greg’s skin. During these times, Greg would find teeth slowly grazing at his shaft, followed by a tongue slowly trailing along his length and lapping up the precum from the tip of his member. During these times, Greg knew he was in for a long night of Sherlock staving off the orgasm that would threaten, until he was practically begging for release.

But this was not one of those experiences. This time, Sherlock wore an expression that begged Greg to use him. As he felt Sherlock take the tip of his cock between his lips, Greg let out an almost inaudible curse, watching as his length disappeared into Sherlock’s mouth. After a few seconds in that beautiful, vulgar mouth that had just that morning offended half of his team, Greg felt Sherlock’s jaw go slightly slack as their gaze met once more. A flick of Sherlock’s tongue against his frenulum, their pre-agreed signal, and Greg placed both hands on Sherlock’s head, slowly thrusting forward.

Sherlock had never made it any secret that he found it arousing providing someone else with fellatio. In fact, the first time they’d engaged in any sexual activity, Sherlock’s had taken it upon himself to provide Greg with what could only be called the mother of all oral fucks, leaving Greg sated and wondering how he could ever find the energy to bring Sherlock to climax after that. But after repositioning himself and unfastening Sherlock’s trousers, he’d found his new lover not only hard, but on the brink of orgasm. So knowing Sherlock’s cock was being a little neglected right now didn’t make Greg feel too guilty at all.

Thrusting a little faster and a little harder, Greg closed his eyes momentarily, his grip tightening in the curls around his fingertips. Sherlock’s cock, meanwhile, was hard and leaking, his arousal only heightened by the filthy sounding moans that were escaping Greg’s mouth. Oh, how he longed to push a finger inside his partner, gently massaging that prostate. Just as his thoughts descended into chaos, thinking of all the things he couldn’t do to Greg with his hands restrained, the elder man pulled out, eliciting a sound of annoyance from Sherlock.

“Face to the ground, Posh Boy,” Greg drawled, kneeling behind Sherlock and pressing an encouraging hand to his shoulder. Obediently, Sherlock moved so he was pressed to the floor, his arse presented to Greg as if it was the senior officer’s to claim.

Savouring the sight before him, Greg parted Sherlock’s cheeks, before leaning down and licking along that glorious crack, stopping to tongue at that delectable puckered hole in front of him. As Sherlock bucked back against his tongue with a needy whine, Greg pressed down on his hips, knowing there would be faint bruises where his fingertips connected with that pale skin. Finally satisfied the detective wouldn’t be moving again, Greg reached for the lube on the coffee table, coating his fingers before he slowly worked one inside Sherlock.

“Don’t you dare start fucking my finger,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to Sherlock’s neck. His finger stilled inside Sherlock, and to emphasise his point, he moved his hand back to the small of Sherlock’s back, stroking along the crease ever so slightly with his thumb. Part of him longed to see how long he could hold Sherlock there, the hint of stimulation, yet it never being enough to satisfy Sherlock. Five, four, three… But there was one thing Greg always forgot with Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Dickhead, and that was his restraint. A breath of resignation, and he began working his second finger inside, eliciting a needy gasp from Sherlock’s lips. “Don’t start enjoying this too much,” he hissed, leaning down so his lips brushed against Sherlock’s ear. “This is supposed to be your punishment.”

“Not enjoying it at all, Sir,” Sherlock panted, trying to resist the temptation to push back against Greg’s fingers, maybe even bringing himself to completion. But no, he knew that the moment he pushed back against Greg’s fingers, he’d find the hand withdrawn, Greg’s cock zipped, and his punishment would come in fifteen quick strokes with the riding crop. As he felt Greg tugging at his earlobe with his teeth, Sherlock bit down on his own lip, closing his eyes as he tried to force back a moan. And then came the third, glorious finger.

“I wonder how far I could stretch you,” Greg whispered, moving to lick along the inside of Sherlock’s ear as he began thrusting his fingers ever so slowly. “Could have you gaping wide and waiting for me. God that would be a sight.” Pushing his fingers in as far as he could, Greg listened to the loud moan he dragged from Sherlock’s lips, reaching for the lubricant once more. “Hopefully this will teach your posh arse to stop breaking into my office,” he whispered, his coated fingers wrapping around his length, before lining himself up with Sherlock’s hole. Slowly, he pushed inside, rewarded with moans of pleasure from Sherlock, pressing one more kiss to Sherlock’s neck, a moment of tenderness before slipping back into character.

Moving his hands back to Sherlock’s hips, Greg began to thrust, slowly at first, his movements deep. Testily, Sherlock responded with the slightest movement of his hips, only to find Greg’s grip tightening, and as he pressed his cheek to the floor, Sherlock let out a quiet moan, satisfied that the evidence of this particular game would stay with him for quite some time. As Greg’s movements quickened, his cock brushing against Sherlock’s prostate, a long moan was dragged from Sherlock’s lips, followed by his panting as Greg hit that sweet spot over and over again. As Sherlock came, Greg pushed in further still, Sherlock’s name escaping his lips as he climaxed.

Reaching for the keys to the handcuffs as he pulled out, Greg cleared his throat. “So. Learned your lesson?”  He tossed the handcuffs onto the table as Sherlock pulled up his pants, standing to fasten his trousers.   
  
“Oh. Absolutely, Sir. I can assure you it won’t be happening again.”

Greg zipped up his own trousers, holding Sherlock’s eye contact, before a grin covered his face. “Right. Good. Although for some reason I don’t believe you.” Moving closer, he leant up to kiss Sherlock, tucking his shirt in as he contemplated coffee.

“Make mine black,” Sherlock whispered, before stepping back and turning towards the bathroom to retrieve the salve for his wrists. “Oh. And Greg?” He stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, rubbing at his wrists as he looked back at his lover, his expression solemn. “I never went to Eton.”


End file.
